


we've been fucking from the jump

by sundermount



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Switch Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, mentions of bondage and gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 11:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundermount/pseuds/sundermount
Summary: Byleth helps to fuck feral Dimitri back to sanity, and meditates on sex and intimacy.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Male Byleth, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Male Byleth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	we've been fucking from the jump

**Author's Note:**

> I've always had it in my head that Byleth is ace, but I also think he would've willingly fucked feralmitri out of it if that was all it took. This is me trying to reconcile that.
> 
> Unbeta’ed, all mistakes are my own. Title from Frank Ocean's DHL.

Byleth gives his cock a perfunctory stroke. It grows stiff under his hand, accompanied by a tightening in his groin. On the bed, Dimitri struggles. His muscles are taut, flexing, wrists threatening to break rope. The pucker of his entrance is shiny and glistening with the oil Byleth had used to ease the way.

Once he judges his cock stiff and oiled enough, he crawls on top of Dimitri, still struggling with his bonds, growls and snarls muted by the gag between his teeth. Byleth reaches around to the back of Dimitri’s head to check.

The gag’s tie still holds firm, secure in its knot. Nothing a dagger won’t make quick work of, but also nothing that would be undone from all the trashing.

The lines on Dimitri’s forehead are creased, the bright blue of his eye piercing and startling in its ferocity. Byleth holds his gaze with his own flat look and guides his cock into Dimitri’s body.

Dimitri grunts as he enters, throwing his head back, the feeling of being entered overwhelming him so much his eyes squeeze shut. A line of his own saliva drips down to the spot where his jaw meets his ear; Byleth knows from experience a nuzzle with the tip of his nose there is enough to get Dimitri to shudder and go pliant for a bit. Enough time to secure rope over a wrist.

Byleth angles his hips, to nudge and slide over Dimitri’s spot. The warmth and heat around his cock clench tight, and the sharp blue of his eye starts to soften. If the sky of a summer’s day coloured the electricity of a thoron bolt, Byleth had heard a student muse 5 years prior.

The blue softens further as Dimitri draws closer and closer to his own climax. “ _Professor_ ,” he rasps. Byleth threads the fingers of the hand not steadying Dimitri’s hip through his hair, a mockery of a lover’s touch.

“Dimitri,” he replies, thrusts steady as Dimitri’s thighs flex around his hips, drawing him further into his body. His gaze feels more familiar now, the desperation not dissimilar to the one Byleth knew as his professor.

“Dimitri, let go,” he says, and Dimitri does.

  


He’d never thought it’d come to this, but the resistance needs their leader. Even a faint copy of it. A good leader, a hulking, feral beast of a man determined to charge Enbarr and take down an entire army of Imperial soldiers does not make.

But there was a moment. A rare moment of lucidity, when Byleth had pinned Dimitri down in an attempt to stop him from going after an Imperial soldier who’d fled the battlegrounds after his leader’s defeat.

The beast had snarled, bit, struggled. Accidentally rut against Byleth’s thigh, then again, and again. Its release brought about a mostly-lucid Dimitri, momentarily freed of his demons; clear of the monster that skulked around rubble in the cathedral pissing and defecating in the same place it slept.

Dimtri had wept, for he did not know how long he would be so clear of mind. With that lucidity, he had begged his professor to help him as much as he could spare to.

Byleth had never liked to deny Dimitri much.

  


Byleth taught himself to pleasure: the glide of a hand over cock, the feelings that accompanied the slide of hood (if uncut) over head. How one would use the fluids of one’s pre-spend to help ease the way. Practiced techniques the Abyss brothel boys and girls whispered to him over cups of tea, secrets of the trade that kept men and women and those of indeterminate gender alike returning to them.

Learned to welcome a cock in his mouth and his body alike, and after he’d mastered that and knew what felt good, to use his cock to similar effect with his partner.

Byleth did not draw or experience pleasure himself from any of these acts. His body would react to a certain degree, but it was so disconnected from his emotions at hand, as if he was experiencing the pleasures of the flesh secondhand.

He took stock of how his body shuddered as Balthus fucked up into him as if it was an arrow piercing through flesh; the part and give of Yuri’s entrance around his cock similar to the smooth glide of his sword as it thrust into the body of a bandit leader, swift and upward and hitting home right in between his ribcage.

He did not need to achieve orgasm to serve the would-be King. Past experience as a mercenary and knowing how to kill qualified Byleth as a teacher, not death. Bedding someone would not be any different.

  


Byleth was not sure about the long-term effects of bedding Dimitri beyond allowing him reprieve from his demons. But he thinks it shows in how Dimitri defers to himself, Rodrigue and Gilbert when they speak of marching to Fhirdiad instead of Enbarr.

Previously, he would have tried forcing their hand. To concede was a fortunate but welcome side-effect.

“Well, that was a lot easier than I’d expected,” Sylvain says during dinner. He’s seated across Byleth, the tip of his booted foot resting lightly against Byleth’s ankle. 

Sylvain spears a bit of cut pheasant on his fork and drags his boot up Byleth’s calf. Ingrid grunts in affirmation next to him.

That night, Byleth watches as Sylvain sucks on his cock and laps at his tip with his tongue. 

“ _Best in Garreg Mach_ ,” he’d said. “ _The girls might be unhappy with me, but they had no complaints about this mouth in bed_.”

It barely has an effect on Byleth; his breath quickens a little, and a twitch in his cock produces a pearly tip of fluid. He didn’t think Sylvain would agree to his request, but then again, he’d also held the wrong assumption that his dalliances were only with women.

Sylvain sighs as he takes his pleasure in Byleth’s body; thrusts languid and steady right up until he nears his release, when they quicken and his hips judder against Byleth’s rear as he spends inside. A rare indulgence, according to him. The heir to the Margraviate could not risk bastards and did not trust a commoner’s alleged consumption of tea and use of lily root.

“ _You should always maintain a steady rhythm when they're about to come. Change it up before if you feel like it, but when Di— your partner is approaching their peak - and you’ll know it when they are - don’t let up._ ”

Byleth questions Sylvain after they catch their breath, if his lack of reaction was bothersome.

“Besides having learned something— did you feel good?” he murmured, arm sliding over Byleth’s naked waist, fingers parting Byleth’s rear and dipping into the spend that’d begun to trickle out of his entrance.

“I suppose,” Byleth frowns. Orgasm still eludes him, but his body feels well-worn; not at all different from the satisfaction accompanying a hard bout of sparring with Felix when either of them had time to attend to matters not regarding war or Dimitri.

Sylvain’s fingers spread his seed downwards, between Byleth’s legs, smearing them over the soft area behind his balls. Byleth shudders. Sylvain’s mouth, lax from their previous activities, firms into a smirk.

“Then it’s not a bother to me, professor,” he rearranges them so Byleth’s on his back and Sylvain is back between his legs, spreading them high and wide apart, face level to where his cock had been not ten minutes prior.

“Sex isn’t just about release, although that’s the result most seek when they look for a fuck. It could be about feeling good,” he punctuates this with a suck to the area he’d painted with pre-spend and seed, and Byleth’s back arches. “Or connecting with someone on a deeper level. Rediscovering someone you already knew.”

“Is this why the women you’ve slept with all react so badly to being rejected after? Because they feel like they’ve given the deeper part of themselves over to you for nothing?”

Sylvain lets out a laugh. It’s the most insincere emotion Byleth has gotten from him since they’d both undressed. His smirk has a tinge of bitterness to it.

Byleth thinks about turning back time to before he soured the mood. He’d always been too blunt, too unfeeling, too unemotional. Balthus had drawn a comparison to fucking a fish, something he’d retracted as soon as it’d left his lips, but it would not be inaccurate.

The muscles in his thigh twinge. Sylvain takes note, rearranges Byleth’s thighs over his shoulders and rubs at the muscles. 

Byleth swallows the protest on the tip of his tongue. He thinks it would sour the mood further if he let slip that the discomfort was second nature to him by now.

It aches more when Dimitri takes him in this position.

He reaches out with a hand, cups Sylvain’s jaw. Draws the pad of his thumb over his cheekbone. Sylvain breathes in, guides Byleth’s hand to the top of his head as his tongue and mouth seek out Byleth’s entrance.

Byleth still does not spend, but the pleasure… is more welcome, and when Sylvain enters him for the second time that night Byleth thinks it would not feel that different from when he rests his blade after battle, slick with blood and safe in its sheath.

  


_Rediscovering someone you already knew._

Byleth thinks about Dimitri. The way the muscles in his body let loose after his third orgasm, the same way Byleth thinks he feels when everyone is back at the monastery after clearing a horde of bandits.

He knows they can take care of themselves, such is the stock he has placed in their abilities and his own teachings. But he is attached to them, and he worries.

Even after witnessing his students successfully manage the challenges they’ve faced — it all boils down to luck. It would take one lucky person, one faulty weapon, one misplaced call on his end to end a life.

For now, he basks in the knowledge that they are safe, that Dimitri is safe, under him, thrusting into Byleth, as hale and hearty as he could be with the scant amount of food and rest they have managed to coax him into, these past months.

Byleth’s thighs tire from how long he’s been riding Dimitri. His hips are beginning to hurt from the grip Dimitri has on them as he chases his second release, grunts growing louder as he nears his peak.

He thinks he’s beginning to see what Sylvain means — Dimitri’s jaw has a minute tic when he clenches it in frustration and impatience. Hidden by his hair, unnoticeable to Byleth before. But this close, right next to it as he clutches at Dimitri’s neck and shoulder and exhales Dimitri’s every thrust into the curve of his ear, it’s as clear as a speck of rust on weapon.

The hand on Dimitri’s shoulder drifts down to the curve of Dimitri’s pec, brushing over his nipple. Dimitri’s hips stutter for a moment before he resumes his thrusting, pace increasingly frenetic and uneven.

His heart beats firm and steady, in time with the throb of his cock. It would not be long before he spends.

Dimitri is alive, and Byleth revels in the knowledge of it.

He is warm, and alive, and he will be _king_.

  


Fucking is less of a trial when it is not Dimitri who is receiving. He struggles and _bites_ and refuses Byleth entry to his body until he is restrained or orgasm-loose, seed painting Byleth’s hand.

Dimitri’s lucid periods are significantly longer when he achieves orgasm by getting fucked, but such a result is also beget by an equally significant amount of effort.

It’s different tonight, however.

They have captured the Great Bridge of Myrddin, and Dedue is alive. For the moment, Dimitri has one less ghost looking over his shoulder. One less death to carry around. One less burden to bear.

It was him who approached Byleth, to ask if he would be at the chapel that night.

Byleth nodded his affirmation. Dimitri never approached him — it was Byleth who initiated their encounters, at first pleasuring Dimitri with his hand and mouth (and foot, on one occasion), later with his entrance already oiled and slicked. Prepared with rope and oil and gag, when he deemed Dimitri to be the one to receive.

When he entered the chapel, it was to Dimitri with his back to him, already disrobed. His legs are spread, entrance still unprepared but Byleth’s for the taking.

“ _Take me like this tonight_ ,” he grunts, fumbling behind himself for Byleth’s hand, guiding it between his legs. _“Fuck me as hard as you can bear to.”_

Which leads to this:

Dimitri collapsed on the floor, save for a scant few inches where his left elbow has not yet given out. His left fist is clenched, fingernails digging half-moon crescents in the meat of his palm. The tips of his right are deepening the gouges in the stone floor of the chapel.

Byleth makes a mental note to point it out to Ferdinand and Felix when it was their turn to clear rubble next Saturday. He feels Dimitri tighten around him and strengthens his grip on Dimitri’s hips, his own maintaining the rhythm he’d already established.

Dimitri’s breaths are heavy and his body demanding, moving back to meet Byleth, the smack of their hips echoing, amplified by the high ceilings and architecture.

He leans forward so his front is plastered to Dimitri’s back, kissing the faint mark of a scar a handspan’s width above his underarm. 

An axe wound, from when they were rerouting bandits two weeks back. She was hidden in the underbrush, and both he and Dimitri had missed her entirely. Skillful and fast — she’d evaded a lance attack that would’ve felled her in a single hit. Byleth had been too far away to back him up, and instead directed a barely-leashed Felix in to claim his kill.

He idly wonders how it would’ve been if he approached Felix for this, dismissing the thought as soon as it appears. A good swordsman he is, an undeniable champion on the battlefield, but far too emotionally volatile. Too much at stake, given his history with Dimitri.

Dimitri’s cries increase in pitch, and Byleth snaps back to the present. He reaches around for Dimitri’s cock, only for his hand to be rearranged so he has an arm around Dimitri’s chest, a mockery of a hug.

“Not like this, tonight,” Dimitri rasps. “I want to spill from only your cock.”

Byleth grips him tighter, their bodies plastered so close together there’s nothing but their own sweat between them.

Dimitri tightens for the last time, throws his head back and howls his climax at the dome of the cathedral. His arms give out below him and Byleth pulls out, wrapping him in his cloak.

He tips Dimitri’s head back, mouths at his neck as he massages his back and murmurs: you’re safe now. You did so well. Thank you for giving yourself over to me.

As he leaves for his room, he nods to Dedue, standing guard outside.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Byleth says.

“As am I,” Dedue looks down at him, bright eyes glittering. “Thank you for taking care of his Highness and my plants, when I was away.”

“It was my pleasure,” Byleth replies.

He makes it a point to inform Sylvain of their exchange during their meal that weekend — who, as he’d expected, finds the irony hilarious.

  


Byleth checks in on Felix after Rodrigue’s death the only way he knows how.

“Spar?”

“After I feed this cat.”

Byleth squats next to Felix and eyes the cat in question. It nibbles slowly at the noa fruit in his hand, ignoring their gaze; the air around them is thick, like Felix has something to say but is not quite ready to let it go yet. Byleth does not have to wait long.

“I thought you only fucked the boar when you needed him to behave?”

He thinks of the hesitation in Dimitri’s voice when he’d approached him the previous night. The way he held his hands and kissed them, mouthing at each individual knuckle. How he’d nuzzled his face into Byleth’s palms like a touch-starved pup seeking affection, even as he brought himself to completion rutting against Byleth’s inner thigh.

“Dimitri needed comfort, and— I don’t think he knows how to be alone, yet.”

“Does his dog not continue to follow him around?”

“Dedue does, but. Physical intimacy is… different.” He frowns and sits down on the ground, Felix following suit. There’s more than one cat now. “It’s a different comfort, I think, from when you hold someone’s hand. Being in them, or them being in you.”

Felix scrapes a fingernail on the ground, his eyes trained on a black tabby. “I wouldn’t know.”

Byleth shrugs.

“I don’t think you’re missing out on much.”

A long pause. Byleth hands the first cat a white trout; he caught a fair number of them today, and nobody ever likes to eat fish save for Flayn, himself, and the dogs and cats.

“Do you not enjoy it?” Felix extends his finger for the black tabby to sniff. “I don’t think D— the boar saddled with his ghosts would’ve been a good bed-partner, but you slept together again after that.”

“The problem lies not with him, but with me. I don’t experience pleasure the way everyone else does.” Byleth’s forehead creases.

“So what does that make you? Some sort of sexual martyr?” Felix looks him directly in the eye, cat forgotten. 

“He is my student, and his problems are mine to bear. As are yours and everyone else’s.”

“We seek your help in fighting _battles_. Not fucking.”

“Would you have bedded him, if I’d asked?” He hears Felix’s breath catch. It’s a loaded question; one he doesn’t think Felix has a reply to yet. “If you are to be his advisor… I think that sharing his bed, even for one night, might help in ways you wouldn’t expect.”

Felix respects him too much to call him crazy, but he knows the urge is there.

“Why?”

“Sleeping with someone can go further than just wanting them as a bed partner. It connects you on a deeper level and helps you rediscover someone you already knew. Or so I’m told.”

Byleth stands up, dusting the seat of his trousers and extending a hand to Felix, who doesn’t take it.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said all that. He tries changing the topic.

“I don’t think it’s any better than fighting. You don’t become a better swordsman from sleeping with people.”

Sylvain would probably find that funny as well.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Yes, I suppose you do.”

“Spar?”

“Spar.”


End file.
